


Tater Tots & Heavy Thoughts

by OneOverClover



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Anxiety Disorder, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Consensual Adult Sex, Drug Abuse (Not Armin or Annie), F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Learning to trust, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Past Sexual Abuse, Social Worker Armin, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOverClover/pseuds/OneOverClover
Summary: Armin is a social worker haunted by his traumatic childhood. He copes by paring down his life to the absolute basics. Armin spends his days helping others, while he's coming undone at the seams. Things start to change when a somber, aloof woman tracks him down to ask for his help with her brother. What follows is a personal journey of acceptance and recovery.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart
Comments: 66
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Please heed the tags before reading. There will be a lot of things in this story that many will find triggering. Also, there will inevitably be aspects that are unrealistic or inaccurate to reality. This is a work of fiction that is not meant to be taken seriously.

Armin shifts the canvas grocery bag hanging at his side. Its contents sit uncomfortably cold against his hip. He had been concerned that the clerk at the grocery store would judge him for buying nothing but four bags of frozen tater tots but given their apathetic expression as they slid the products across the scanner, his worries had been unfounded. Still, he makes sure to rotate between grocery stores each week, so he doesn’t become “tater tot” guy at any one place.

The elevator dings and the doors open to the fifth floor, his floor. It’s the top floor of his apartment building. His living space is far from ideal, but he’d made sure to snag a place with no one living above him. Sleep eludes him often enough without the aid of upstairs neighbors clomping around at all hours.

He walks down the hall to his front door, taking note of the peeling paint and wondering if it’s worth his time to ask the superintendent to put on a fresh coat. His key slides into the lock, and he jiggles it until the finicky thing finally finds the sweet spot in the inner pins and turns.

The inside of his flat is the most bare-bones one-bedroom unit he can imagine; walls painted chalky white, a tiny kitchen with a stove featuring old-fashioned metal burners. Not that he uses the oven anyway. _What a waste of space_ , he thinks as he slings the bags of spuds into the freezer and pulls out an already-open bag. From an outside perspective, it must look like Armin has some sort of food eversion, but that’s not it. Eating the same thing all the time is just easier. He doesn’t have to think about it, and anything he can take off his mind is a relief.

He dumps the remainder of the bag into an air fryer on the counter and switches it on. His fridge is mostly barren inside, save for a few condiment bottles; ranch, ketchup, honey mustard. All for dipping his tots in. In the cabinet there’s a single container of powdered citrus drink with vitamin C that he’d purchased after his therapist told him she was worried that he would get scurvy.

Dinner is eaten on a paper plate with ketchup tonight while sitting on his couch because he doesn’t own a kitchen table. He hunches over the coffee table, watching game shows on the television station his digital antenna picks up the best.

The rest of the night is spent reading a library book and agonizingly watching the clock, knowing that the minutes of his free time are slowly ticking away.

\-----------------------

Once or twice a week, Armin stops by a local convenience store on his way to work and buys a cup of coffee. He tries not to make a habit of doing it any more than that or it might start impacting his budget.

The guy who owns the place, Levi, is a surly little bastard who can usually be found wiping down the countertop from behind the register. He has a short temper that makes Armin nervous, but he’d still rather spend his money at a small business than at a generic chain store.

The bell above the door chimes when he walks inside and the next thing he hears is two voices in a heated argument.

“It’s called fucking price gouging, you cheapskate!” A small woman with her hair in a blond ponytail is yelling at the owner. Two apples sit on the counter between them. “There’s a shortage, so you’ve double the price.”

Levi slaps his hands down on the counter, “Yeah, there’s a shortage, so _I_ have to pay more for them. That’s why they cost more!”

Armin walks over to the coffee machine and tries to ignore them, but he can’t help but wonder who on earth goes to a convenience store to buy fruit.

“You know what?” The woman says aggressively throwing down some cash, “Why don’t you keep the change? Obviously, this place could use the charity.”

“I hope your day is as pleasant as you are!” Levi calls out to her as she storms out, apples in hand.

The guy is still fuming when Armin approaches the register with his coffee, so he prepares to pay as quickly as he can and get the hell out.

“You look like shit today,” Levi says when he sets the cup down.

“Couldn’t sleep last night,” Armin says trying to keep the conversation to a minimum.

He waves the debit card away when Armin tries to pay, “It’s on me today. Looks like you need it.”

It’s strange to hear someone say something so objectively nice in such an angry voice.

“I… er… thanks?”

“Yeah, now get out. I feel like a need to sanitize the whole store to get the stank of that brat’s entitlement out.”

Armin isn’t the sort of person you have to tell to “get out” twice, and he’s through the door in seconds flat.

\--------------------------

It’s not that he doesn’t find his job rewarding. He does. He feels like he’s doing work that makes a real difference in the world. It’s just a lot on him, and privately, he thinks he might not be mentally healthy enough to hold down a full-time job. It doesn’t matter, though. For Armin there is no moving back home to try to figure things out, no taking a break to pick up a second degree. The only thing keeping a roof over his head, is a meager yet steady paycheck.

His first case of the day is Connie, who’s moving from a rehab facility into a half-way house. This is the second time Armin has been through this with him. Connie’s drug of choice is cocaine, but he’s open to most uppers when he can’t get it. Fortunately, he seems to draw the line at meth. Meth addiction is a whole different beast to deal with.

The guy is chatting animatedly while packing his bag, and to someone who didn’t know any better, it might seem like he’s wired right now. Armin knows for a fact that he’s been sober for two weeks now.

“Hey, are you taking me to the place on 14th street?” Connie asks turning suddenly toward him.

“Yep. It’s a ten-bed center, plenty of group excursions.”

“Oh man, there’s this noodle place really close to there that I’ve been craving for days. I haven’t been in forever. You can’t eat for shit when you’re high.”

Armin nods and helps him zip up his over-full duffel bag, “So I’ve heard. You won’t be able to make unsupervised trips for a little while, but I don’t see why they’d object to taking you to get takeout.”

Connie pumps his fists in the air like the prospect of some greasy Pad-Thai is some sort of hard-won victory. It makes Armin smile. If only every case was this easy.

It’s a sentiment he’s reminded of as he’s walking toward the door to wait for a cab. It’s taking a while to make it to the front of the building because Connie is fist-bumping and saying goodbye to every treatment center employee they run into.

There’s a big man standing in front of the intake desk growling under his breath at someone beside of him, “I told you, I don’t fucking belong here. You never said anything about having to stay here for _weeks_. I have a job.”

“Yeah, and you’ve already blown through your last paycheck and maxed out your credit cards. What’s next? How are you going to score your next hit?” says a familiar female voice. “Face it, Reiner, this isn’t recreational anymore. You have a problem.”

The man is huge now, but he has the look of someone who used to be bigger, more muscular. He’s quite young, but his face is hollowing out. If Armin had to eyeball it, he’d guess heroin or some sort of synthetic opioid.

“You really think just pulling me away from life for a little while is going to help anything? It’s all bullshit, and all it’s going to do is cause me to grief with my boss,” the man argues.

“Actually,” Armin says approaching the man, “Rehab facilities like this are essential for a safe initial detox, and to give you the tools you need to succeed once you leave. No one expects all your problems to be gone in two weeks.”

The man, Reiner, steps back to look at Armin, revealing the woman he’s been talking to.

 _Oh._ It’s the blond woman from the store.

“What are you, some kind of nurse?” he asks.

Armin shakes his head, “No, I’m a social worker. I help people with addictions transition back into their lives.”

“Well look, I don’t need to transition back into anything. I have a life. And I can’t just abandon it while I go on some bogus healing journey.”

“I know it can seem like that’s the case, but most people find the tradeoff is worth it once they get sober. They hadn’t realized how… not present they had been in their own lives.”

Reiner thinks about that for a moment. “Other people don’t have the responsibilities that I have, so just mind your own damn business.”

The woman is giving him a blank, disinterested stare.

Armin tries to flash the man a disarming smile, but he’s never quite sure what’s going on with his face. “Hey, it’s your choice. Just know that things are a lot easier for patients that are here of their own free will.”

Reiner takes a step toward him in a clear intimidation tactic. To his credit, it works because the guy towers over Armin. “Are you suggesting that I might find myself back here _not_ of my own free will?”

Just then a friendly hand grasps onto Armin’s shoulder, and instinctively he tries to pull away. Connie doesn’t allow it, and clutches Armin to his side, “Sorry to interrupt. Come on man, we need to get going. Can’t catch this cab without a chaperone.”

“Right,” Armin says as he’s being marched toward the door. “Forgive me, I hope everything goes well for you.”

The big man just huffs as the pair of them walk out into the crisp air outside.

There’s a car already waiting for them with the engine running. Connie makes a motion for the driver to pop open the trunk so he can throw his bag back there. The car’s shocks bounce when he lands in the backseat with Armin, “Geeze man, you gotta be more careful. That lunkhead is in some serious denial, and his brain’s probably all fried from the dope.”

Armin knows. He works with addicts every day. Hell, he’s talking to one right now. Sometimes it just frustrates him when he isn’t able to make people see what’s in their own best interests.

“Thank you for getting me out of an uncomfortable position. You have a knack for social situations.” He considers politely asking him not to touch him again, but he doesn’t want to start any more awkward conversations today.

Connie makes finger guns at him while Armin gives the cab driver directions.

“Hey, when I’m free again, you should let me wingman for you one night. I can talk my boys up to the ladies like nothing you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Armin says pulling his phone from his pocket to text the halfway house that they are on their way. “But I think you have the wrong idea about me.”

“Huh, well I can talk you up to the fellas just as good.” This guy’s enthusiasm is just unshakeable. Why would a person like this ever need to be on cocaine?

“Ah. It’s not that. I’m just happier at home.”

Connie raises his eyebrows. “Like, for real?”

Armin opens his mouth to defend his statement, but nothing comes out.

_Is that really how I feel?_

\-----------------------------------------

Connie gets squared away at his new temporary home, and Armin sees to two more patients before the end of his shift. His back is tense with the stress of the day even before his boss even calls to rip him a new one. Apparently, even though he had filled out all the paperwork to check Connie out of the rehab facility, he had neglected to actually sign him out on the way out. It had totally slipped his mind because of the confrontation in the lobby.

He sits on a bench outside the public library getting verbally reamed for five minutes before his boss finally runs out of steam and tells him this is a strike that’s going on his employment record.

Armin stays on the bench with his head tilted over the back because walking home just seems like too much after that. The hard backrest gives him a crick in his neck, but it feels like a punishment he deserves. It gets later. The sun sets, and the streetlights come on, and he hasn’t moved.

Getting up is too much, walking is too much. When he gets like this, just existing feels like too much. One of the things that triggers his anxiety the most is feeling like he’s disappointed other people, and sometimes instead of taking on all the tension, his brain just shuts down. Eventually the air grows cold, and his nose starts to go numb, and some primordial sense of survival kicks in and urges him to get indoors before he freezes to death.

When he gets back to his apartment, he slams his front door so hard it causes a framed picture on the wall to fall off and shatter.

“Shit!” he cries, rushing to pick the photo up off the floor. It’s an image of his parents on their wedding day, the only photograph of them he has.

Armin removes the back from the frame to check its condition. Thankfully there doesn’t appear to be any damage to the photo itself. He takes a moment to examine the picture in detail, something he does more often than he’d like to admit. His father was a chubby, jovial-looking man with a mustache. Armin looks like his mother with wide blue eyes and thick, straight, blond hair. They died in a plane crash when he was three years old. He doesn’t have any concrete memories of them.

No other photos typically adorn his walls besides this one. He does have a picture of his grandfather and himself on a fishing trip. Armin thinks he was around seven when it was taken. That was maybe a year before his grandfather died as well. That photo, he keeps in a drawer. It’s nothing against his grandfather; Armin just doesn’t like looking at pictures of himself as a child.

Once the glass is swept up, he crawls into bed only bothering to kick off his shoes. He’s left the television on in the living room in an attempt to drown out his thoughts, but it was always a futile effort. The hours tick away as Armin lies under his sheets calculating how many hours of sleep he could get if he falls asleep at that moment.

\---------------------------------------------

He feels as if he’s just closed his eyes when his alarm rudely blares him awake. Armin stumbles to his bathroom, peeling off his clothes from the day before on the way. He keeps his eyes off the mirror as he walks by it. Honestly, he’d rip the thing off the wall if he thought the landlord wouldn’t kick him out. Seeing the reflection of his face has gotten easier over the years, but this mirror is the first thing he sees when he gets out of the shower, and it just makes him… uncomfortable.

Getting dressed after his shower is no-fuss affair. He’s made sure that it’s that way by keeping a basic wardrobe of slacks and long-sleeved button downs that all essentially match. A paper plate of tater tots later, and he’s out the door.

Armin’s head is so fuzzy with exhaustion that he bangs his arm against the elevator door hard enough that it’s sure to leave a nasty bruise. He doesn’t usually stop for coffee two days in a row, but today is going to have to be an exception. There is no way he’ll be able to concentrate on his work without some help. Besides, it’s still in his budget since his cup had been free yesterday.

At least today he’s the only person in the convenience store besides the owner. His hands fumble with the flimsy plastic lid on the coffee counter, and some of his drink spills over the edge and scorches his fingers.

 _Well, that might as well happen._ He thinks to himself as he finally feels the lid snap into place.

Levi just stands there staring at him after Armin sets his cup on the counter.

“ _What?”_ he asks, the brusqueness in his own voice surprising him.

The other man looks up at him a moment longer. Armin is a smallish guy, but he feels like a titan compared to Levi.

“Kid, are you okay?” he asks arching an eyebrow.

Armin pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, the rough fabric of his pants scraping against his singed skin. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” Levi doesn’t sound convinced.

Amateur psychology is the last thing Amin wants to deal with this morning. Like a struggling small business owner could make a breakthrough that years of professionals couldn’t manage.

“Keep the change,” he says throwing a few bills down and snatching up his coffee. He almost makes it through the door before Levi calls out to him again.

“So, I don’t know your personal life or anything, but you don’t seem like a guy who’s in a position to be leaving fifty-dollar tips.”

Armin stops in his tracks, “Huh?”

Levi gestures at the cash still sitting on the counter. Armin walks back over and looks. There’s a fifty and two ones. Dejectedly, he swaps out the fifty with another single from his wallet.

“I uh – thanks.”

“Take care of yourself, alright?”

Armin can’t tell if he’s genuine or trying to be a smartass because there’s little to no inflection in his voice, so he just nods. He leaves the store with his tail between his legs feeling as if he has somehow done something wrong.

It’s a familiar emotion. Guilt. Now he feels guilty because he thinks he put Levi in an awkward position, but it haunts him nearly all the time. Guilt because he said the wrong thing. Guilt because he said nothing at all. Sometimes he’s wracked with guilt for simply taking up space.

It’s a gray, overcast day and it looks like it could start raining at any moment, so Armin starts walking with a purpose once he’s outside.

“Hey!” He hears someone call out from behind him, but he doesn’t turn around, because there’s no one he could think of that would be trying to get his attention. Then there’s footsteps from behind him, getting louder as if someone is trying to catch up to him. Armin grimaces. It’s probably a junky trying to ask him for money. This area is packed with them. It’s one of the reasons he’s able to afford to live in the neighborhood.

“Hey, social worker guy!”

That actually causes Armin to speed up because if there’s anyone who knows him as a social worker, it’s the addicts he works with. It’s no use, the person is at his side within seconds.

“I’m trying to ask you something.”

He looks over the see the blond woman from yesterday. She’s wearing jeans and a white hoodie. Her hands are tucked into the front pocket.

Armin keeps moving, but slows down a bit, “Were you looking for me or something?”

“Obviously,” she says simply, matching his pace. “I saw you in that shithole store yesterday before I saw you again at the rehab place. Thought you might stop by every day.”

It makes sense that she would remember him from the confrontation in the lobby, but Armin can’t imagine why she recognized him from the shop.

“What do you want?” He isn’t usually this short with people, but everything is compounding onto his bad mood.

She comes to a stop on the sidewalk beside him and grabs ahold of his wrist.

Immediately, he yanks himself out of her hold with a flash of anger, “ _DON’T TOUCH ME!_ ”

It’s enough to make a couple of passersby turn to look.

“ _And stop looking at me like that,_ ” he adds for good measure.

“Looking at you like what?” she asks coolly.

“Like I’m some scum on the bottom of your shoe that you’re thoroughly unimpressed with.”

She shrugs, “I have resting bitch face. It matches my resting bitch personality.”

Armin covers his weary face with his hand and talks into his palm, “Can you please just tell me why you’re stalking me. The last thing I need right now is to be late for work.”

“Yesterday, when you were talking to my brother,” she says rocking back on her heels, “I think you almost had him talked into getting help.”

“Yeah, it sure didn’t seem like it.”

She looks down at the pavement, “I know it must have felt that way to you, but you were really getting to him. I could tell. I’ve known him my whole life. Would you consider trying again? I can pay you. Not much, but whatever you think an hour of your time is worth is probably fine.”

He remembers how bad it felt when he thought that he couldn’t help Reiner before. One of the few things in life that brings him true happiness is when he works with people during their recovery – and then never sees them come back through the system again.

Her eyes turn up to him, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. It was wrong for me to do.”

Armin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll do it for free. Just don’t be too upset if I’m not able to change his mind.”

“I’m not asking you to work a miracle or anything. I’m just… running out of options. I think he’s starting to spiral out of control.”

For the first time, Armin sees an emotion briefly fall across her features. It’s one that he sees almost every day on the faces of families who are at the end of their ropes with trying to get help for a person whom they love more than anything in the world.

“People have to want to recover. There’s only so much others can do to make it happen.”

She purses her lips and nods before holding out her hand, “I won’t hold you up any longer. Let me see your phone. I’ll put my number in, and you can give me a call when you’re free to set something up.”

He feels weird handing over his phone to her, but he unlocks it and does it anyway.

“I have a friend who owns a café,” she says while typing in her information. “I was thinking we could go in there right after they close so it would just be the three of us. He does better when he thinks he doesn’t need to make a show of being an alpha male in public.”

“Sounds like a self-esteem issue,” he says as she hands his phone back.

“You don’t know the half of it.” And just like that, she turns around and heads off down the sidewalk. He watches her until she moves through a throng of people and out of sight.

Armin looks at the contact she’s put into his phone. It’s just a first name and a phone number.

_Annie._


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years earlier:_

_“Mr. Arlert, I need to speak with you in my office.”_

_His supervisor catches him walking down the hall on his way home. It’s been a long day, and he needs to relax. He pops his head into her office hoping this will be quick._

_She’s already sitting behind her desk wiping down her glasses with a cloth. “Have a seat. Close the door behind you.”_

_His stomach knots with tension. No good conversation ever starts with those words. Armin sits in the chair across from her desk and places his hands on his knees._

_His boss steeples her fingers and clears her throat in obvious chagrin, “Mr. Arlert, it’s come to my attention that you weren’t entirely honest with us during your application process for your position.”_

_He chokes back words of defense as he can’t begin to understand what she means. Armin spent years in higher education preparing himself for this career. Even before he finished high school, he knew that he wanted to be a social worker for children in foster care. He wanted to be that person who was never there for him._

_“First, I want to make it clear that we haven’t received any complaints about you,” she continues. “In the year you’ve been here, I’ve known you to be nothing short of a model employee. That only makes this decision all the more difficult.”_

_“I – I don’t – you think I lied about something?” he stammers._

_She shakes her head, “No, not in so many words.” A pause while she opens a desk drawer and pulls out an unlabeled file. “You were in foster care yourself for a number of years before you aged out.”_

_“Yes. I told you as much when I interviewed here.”_

_“You did.” She spins back and forth in her office chair and lets out a sigh of frustration. “Listen, there’s not a delicate way to broach this subject… when we are working with children who have been sexually assaulted. Do you know what one of the most common things the defendants say in court is?”_

_A wave of nausea washes through his stomach. He thinks he knows where this is headed now, and he’s struck with disbelief. Saliva is flooding his mouth as he answers her._

_“That they were sexually assaulted as children.” The words come out small and weak._

_“I cannot reiterate enough that I am not accusing you of anything, but you are in a position of influence over some of the most vulnerable people in this community. Before we hired you, I was already hesitant about giving the job to a man. – I know how that sounds, and you can think of me what you want, but there is nothing more important than protecting these children.”_

_Tears are building in the back of his eyes, but he’s holding them back, determined not to cry at work. “I’ve never – I would never – I don’t even -”_

_“I want to believe you, but this is information you should have disclosed to us.” She opens the file on her desk. Armin can’t see what’s in it. He doesn’t want to either. “Someone at the district attorney’s office thought your name sounded familiar and looked into it. The documentation took a while to come through since it came from another state.”_

_“You read it.” It’s not a question. He knows it is information that has been read by dozens in the foster care and legal systems but knowing that his own supervisor read it without his permission feels violating. There’s so much being thrown at him, he’s in danger of shutting down._

_She removes her glasses and shakes her head, “Mr. Arlert, what happened to you was vile and cruel, but that does not change the fact that you are a liability in your current role. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to part ways. If you want to put this position on your resume, I’ll put in a good word for you provided it’s not for employment that would have you working with children.”_

_Waves of emotion wash across Armin one right after another: hurt, denial, anger. He sits there silently on the other of the desk far longer than is appropriate._

_“Mr. Arlert?” his boss asks after several painstaking seconds._

_“I see,” he manages to choke out before promptly standing up and walking out of the office._

_Armin makes it down the hall, out the front door and down the front steps of the building before he starts retching. Tears start flowing down his face the second he grabs onto the edge of public trash can and vomits inside. Then his knees hit the pavement, and he blacks out._

\-------------------------------------------------------

Phone calls are an unavoidable part of Armin’s profession. He makes calls to treatment centers, to attorneys, sometimes even to law enforcement. He wouldn’t exactly say he enjoys it, but it’s fine. Making a personal phone call, on the other hand, is a nail-biting experience.

He pulls his phone out and looks at Annie’s phone number, then puts it back into his pocket. Once, twice – four times before he works up the nerve to hit call. His teeth grit together hard as the ringing starts and mashes the phone against his cheek. He thinks the call is about to go to voicemail when a woman’s husky voice answers.

“Hello. This is Annie.”

“Yeah. This is – you told me to call you to set up time to meet with you and your brother.”

“Oh, you actually called.” she doesn’t sound surprised so much as… satisfied? “I halfway expected not to hear from you.”

“Why? I said I would help.”

“People say a lot of things.”

“I guess they do. So, uh, when did you want to get together?”

“Are you free Saturday at eight? I know it’s late, but I have classes until then, and that’s when the café closes.”

Armin can’t remember the last time he left his apartment at that hour, but he doesn’t have a good reason to object. “Alright, sure.”

“Good, now I’ll just have to figure out what to tell Reiner.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t lie to him,” Armin says. “This is going to be the sort of situation where building his trust is important.”

“It’s going to be a hard sell for him otherwise, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Are there any topics I should know to avoid beforehand? Things that would upset him or take the conversation in the wrong direction?”

“Hmmmm…” she says thinking it over, “Definitely don’t mention family other than me… and don’t bring up his romantic life.”

“I can’t imagine why I would do that.”

“Other than that, just don’t let him try to intimidate you. He’s not as scary as he likes to pretend he is.”

At least there’s that, because to Armin, Reiner looks exceedingly scary. “Where should I go?”

Annie gives him the address. It’s in a part of town where he never goes, although now that he thinks about, he never really goes anywhere that isn’t on his way to work or the library.

“Oh, one last thing,” she says as he is about to hang up.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your name?”

Huh, he guesses he forgot that he hadn’t told her. “Armin.”

“ _Armin._ ” She sounds like she’s testing it out to see how it sounds coming out of her mouth. “That’s a strange one.”

“Is it any stranger than Reiner?”

A sound comes through the speaker that could almost be a chuckle, “No, I suppose not. Well, Armin, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

\------------------------------------------------

Weekends are a conundrum. On one hand Armin doesn’t have to worry about the stress of his job. On the other hand, he never knows what to do with himself. Making friends is always an option, but that comes with its own set of obligations. All relationships take work, and he isn’t sure if he has it him. Well… maybe just one friend wouldn’t be so bad. But how do you even find one as an adult?

A hobby could also fill some free time. There are flyers posted around his neighborhood about a fencing club that have been catching his eye. It’s tempting, but then he thinks about the up-front costs, the time commitment, the struggle that inevitably comes with picking up a new skill. It all just seems like way too much to take on.

So he reads. He watches the news. He walks around the block, and he wastes his life away until it’s time to go back to work. Then, he laments how he squandered his weekend.

It’s mostly the lack of distractions that leads Armin to arrive at the Café nearly an hour before he needs to be there. It’s a cozy, shabby-chic little place with brick walls and doilies on the tables. The Aroma of quality coffee blasts his senses the moment he opens the door.

He takes a seat at table in the corner and orders the cheapest coffee on the menu from a woman with dark hair and a warm, welcoming energy. Armin doesn’t actually want the drink, but it feels rude to sit in a restaurant without buying anything.

It’s actually quite nice just sitting their people watching, and he wonders why he doesn’t do it more often. For the most part, he’s even able to ignore the intrusive thoughts about everyone else judging him for sitting by himself.

Around five minutes to eight Annie and Reiner walk through the door together, and the dark-haired woman rushes over and throws her arms around Annie’s neck. Armin wouldn’t have pegged her as an affectionate person, but she surprises him by hugging the woman back. Reiner glances over at his table while the two women are chatting and narrows his eyes.

The siblings break away and start to make their way toward him. Armin is sitting on a booth seat against the wall and the other two slide into the chairs side-by-side on the other side of the table. Reiner is wearing a nice dress shirt with a necktie. Annie has on black leggings and matching long-sleeved top.

“Good – you’re here,” Annie says scooting her chair closer to the table.

“You seem to have a lot of doubts about my reliability,” Armin says.

“Well, you know. Life experience and all.”

She has a face that has no business being as striking as it is; a roman nose, a small pink mouth, heavy eyelids that she’s accentuated with dark sparkly eyeshadow. Annie puts him in mind of a femme fatal from an old film noir. The kind the protagonist believes is a damsel in distress until she pulls a gun on him in the heat of the moment.

“Let’s just get this over with. It’s been a long fucking day,” Reiner says loosening his tie.

“I’m glad you decided to talk with me again. From our last conversation I had the impression that you weren’t interested in seeking help,” Armin says.

The dark-haired lady approaches the table with two steaming cups and sets them on the table before pulling out a key ring and handing it to Annie, “Just make extra sure to lock up when you leave. Don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll grab them in the morning.”

“Thanks for letting us use the space, Pieck,” Annie says.

“Any time.” Pieck plants a kiss on top of each of the siblings’ blond heads and steps out into the chilly night air.

Reiner runs a finger around the rim of his cup, “You know, I think you probably think of yourself as some kind of do-gooder, but really, you just try to tell people how to live their lives because you think you’re better than them.”

Armin sees exactly what he’s doing. Reiner his trying to upset him to turn the focus of the conversation away from himself.

“Who I am doesn’t matter right now. Let me ask you something. What would happen if you couldn’t get high tonight?”

“What do you mean couldn’t?” Reiner asks aggressively.

“I mean you’re out of money, and you’ve got no hits left. What are you going to do?”

Reiner hesitates to answer. Armin guesses that he’s probably acknowledged that he has a problem but thinks he can work through it on his own.

“Then I guess my ass is just going to have to go to bed early,” he finally responds.

Armin doesn’t believe that for a second, but he lets it slide. “What made you go to the rehab center lobby the other day?”

“Annie made me go,” he says jerking a thumb in his sister’s direction.

Annie silently sips her drink with a bored expression on her face.

“But she never said anything about not being able to leave the place for two whole weeks.”

“A lot of people actually end up staying longer than that,” Armin says. “What is it about the stay period that deters you?”

“I thought I made that clear. I’m busy with work, and I have a lot of responsibilities. I’d put a ton of people in a bad position if I just up and vanished.”

Armin wraps his hands around his cup. He arrived so early that his coffee has grown cold. He tries to draw on things he’s learned from years of therapy. “You seem to give work the top priority in your life. Do you think that’s because you’ve tied it to your sense of self-worth?”

Reiner shrugs, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“To an extent, many do. What about the other people in your life? The ones who you don’t work with. Do you think you could be a better person for them if you got clean? What about a better person for yourself?”

“Is this how it’s going to go? Just going to keep asking a bunch of annoying questions that don’t go anywhere?”

Armin decides to be blunt. “I’m trying to get a gage on how feasible it is that you would allow anyone to help you. I’ve worked with dozens of addicts who are in rehab because their families forced them to go, and ultimately, it’s just a waste of everyone’s time. You have to want to get better, and you have to want it badly.”

“Well, then I guess we’re all just wasting our time then,” Reiner pushes his chair out from under the table. “Sorry, Annie. This isn’t worth thirty bucks.”

“You were going to pay him to be here?” Armin asks Annie incredulously.

“You told me not to lie,” she says blankly. “How else was I going to get him to agree to this?”

He turns his attention back to Reiner. “You must not need the cash that badly tonight then. Maybe you have something stashed away or you still have some favors left you could call in.”

Reiner glares at him, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Don’t be such a fucking smartass,” the big man says beginning to stand.

“ _Wait,_ ” Armin says holding up a hand. “before you go.”

He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small plastic device. “Annie, I should probably explain to you how to use this.”

“What is it?” she asks.

“Naloxone. It reverses the effects of an overdose. I recommend keeping a few on hand. Sometimes it takes more than one. The is an auto-injector. You take off the outer plastic sleeve, and inject it using the button on the bottom. I recommend going for the thigh.”

The other two are staring at him wide-eyed.

“There’s also a nasal spray version,” Armin continues, “Learning CPR would also be helpful, but it doesn’t have nearly the success rate that movies would have you believe.”

He sets the injector in front of Annie, but she doesn’t pick it up. “If you aren’t sure if he’s overdosing, a sure sign is to check his pupils. They’ll be like pinpricks. Of course, you won’t be able to be there for your brother all the time, so the more people around him who you can convince to keep something like this on hand, the better.”

Reiner’s eyes are focused on the object on the table, “I – I think I’m going to go now.”

Then he gets up and leaves without a look back at either of them.

“Any cash you give him, he’s going to spend on drugs,” Armin says to Annie.

“I know. I’m not an idiot. He’s going to find a way to get high either way.” Finally, she reaches out and gingerly touches the Naloxone device, “Do you just carry this thing around with you all the time.”

“I do. The neighborhood where I live is… not great, and you never know when you could save a life. You can take that one. I have more.”

“Alright,” she sighs, reluctantly picking it up. “I have to say, this isn’t how I pictured tonight ending.”

“I warned you not to get your hopes up.”

“Yeah… you did.”

They sit there in silence for a minute. Armin can hear the sound of car tires splashing across the pavement outside. It’s started to rain.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” he says.

“I know.”

“I should go. Would you like me to wait for a cab with you or anything?” It seems wrong to leave a woman by herself in the dark like this.

The corners of Annie’s lips actually lift into the ghost of a smile, “No thanks. I can take care of myself.”

Armin nods and stands up. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you then.”

“Hmmm,” she hums turning the device over in her hands.

He moves to the door, taking one last look and her over his shoulder before stepping out onto the wet sidewalk.

\--------------------------------------------------

“Oh. My God. You actually brought it!” Connie practically explodes with mirth when Armin walks inside the halfway house.

He’s exuberance isn’t because his favorite social worker is paying him a visit. It’s because he’s picked up his takeout order on the way over. “Order 46 right?”

“Hell yeah!” he rushes over the take the plastic bag. “Geeze, don’t mind me if I start drooling, alright?”

Armin follows him into the kitchen where another resident is just finishing up a bowl of cereal. Connie pulls a carboard takeout box and a pair of chopsticks out of the back and takes a seat at the huge table. Three times a week, all the men living at the house have to eat dinner together, so there needs to be plenty of room.

“How have you been doing?” Armin asks. It’s his job to ask, but he’s also legitimately concerned. He’s doesn’t want Connie to have to go through this a third time.

“Pretty good I think.” He starts shoveling noodles into his mouth. “Muh mom came-uh see me yesterday,” he says with his mouth full.

“That’s good. Will you be able to stay with her when you leave here?”

Connie swallows, “Sure, for a little while. I think I’ll be able to find a job pretty fast, though. Companies are always hiring remote programmers - Hey, was that hot girl working the register at the restaurant? I’d try to work my moves on her, but I don’t think it would work out if I tried to take her back to my place right now.”

“There was a woman at the register, I don’t know if she was the one you’re speaking of.”

“Oh, that’s right you’re not into chicks, right?”

“I… I wouldn’t say that,” Armin doesn’t like for patients to know too much about his personal life. Not that he has an overly rich personal life to talk about.

“We’ll anyway, she said her name was Hitch.” Connie takes another massive bite. “Thuh can’t buh her real nuhm, right?”

Armin pulls his phone out to check the time, then sets it on the table in front of him. He has about 20 minutes to spend here before his meet with his next client. “It certainly sounds like a nickname – Do you think you might do better in a more traditional work environment? You may find the structure helpful.”

“And clock in and out like a caveman?!”

“Often times those with addictions feel that working from home makes it too tempting to abuse substances while they are on the clock,” Armin explains. “It’s harder to get away with being high when you have to physically be around others.”

Connie pokes at his food with his chopsticks. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying. I just feel like as long as I get my work done, why should it matter if I get it done at 5 p.m. or at three in the morning?”

“Would you be up at 3 a.m. if you weren’t using?”

“Don’t try to use your logic on me.” Connie points a chopstick at him. “I’m immune to it.”

“Something else we can look at is finding you an accountability partner. Someone who’s also in recovery. You would check in on each other and help keep each other on track,” Armin suggests.

Connie shrugs, “Sounds doable as long they aren’t a prick. Did you have anyone in mind?”

“Not off the top of my head. It would be better if it were someone with addiction issues similar to yours. I’ll ask around with the other social workers.”

“Will I still have to go to those group sessions? They are so damn bor- hey, who’s Annie?”

“ _What?_ ” Armin asks. Why would Connie ask about _her_?

“They’re calling you right now. She another junkie?”

Armin looks down at his phone. It’s on silent, but the screen is lit up with Annie’s name and number. It’s been four days since their meeting at the café.

“Uh, no. Actually, I need to take this. Excuse me for a moment.”

There’s a door in the kitchen that leads out to the side yard of the halfway house, and Armin opens it up and steps outside. He does a quick look around to make sure none of the residents are around and hits the answer button on the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry to bother you. I know you’re probably at work,” she replies. She sounds so breathy when she talks on the phone.

“It’s okay. Is something going on?”

“I just wanted to let you know that Reiner checked himself into rehab this morning. Said he couldn’t stand the thought of me finding him having an overdose. I told him I was more worried about finding him already dead. I don’t know if it was what you were going for or not, but looks like your method worked.”

Armin leans back against the siding of the house. “That’s – That’s great actually. I’ll need to request not to be put on his case. We aren’t supposed to work with patients who we’ve had contact with outside of a recovery setting.”

“That’s fine.” He hears her take a deep breath. “Armin, I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

Armin smiles. He doesn’t get a lot of ‘thank yous’ in his line of work. “I’m glad everything worked out.”

There’s a pause, then she starts her next sentence with a hesitant tone he hasn’t heard her use before. “So, do you think you’d want to meet up with me again sometime?”

“I really think it would be better if you spoke with the people working directly with your brother instead. They’ll have better insight into his progress.”

“I wasn’t asking because I want to talk about Reiner.”

“Then why do you want to meet with me again?” he asks, perplexed.

Her answer comes out as deadpan as anything.

“Because I think you’re hot as hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. This story is giving me a lot of questionable drug-related items in my search history.


	3. Chapter 3

“How does it make you feel that someone expressed their attraction to you?”

Armin runs his fingers across the plush, red fabric of the couch in his therapist’s office. He’s free to lie down on it if he wishes, but he’s never felt comfortable enough to do that, so instead he sits facing his therapist.

“It feels a little unnerving if I’m being honest.”

He’s been seeing Dr. Zoë once a week for a couple of years now. She has a tendency to be a little eccentric, but Armin feels like they ‘click,’ and he’s been in therapy long enough to know how hard that sort of relationship can be to find.

Dr. Zoë leans forward peering at him. She wears both an eyepatch and glasses, and Armin has often wondered if the glass over the missing eye is prescription at all. “Do you feel like it’s wrong of someone else to be attracted to you?”

He ponders that for a moment. “Yes?”

“Armin, you’re an adult.” She’s using her ‘I’m being frank with you’ voice. “You’ve been an adult for some time. Adults often find other adults attractive.”

“So, you’re saying you think I should see her again?” he asks wringing his hands.

“That’s completely your decision.” Dr. Zoë shakes her head. “The point I’m trying to get across is that our traumas aren’t written on our foreheads. When you look in the mirror, you see yourself as a damaged person – you’ve told me this yourself. When others look at you, they only have the data their eyes provide them. The fact is, Armin, you look like a normal young man. You can’t fault someone else for not seeing the unseeable.”

Hearing it put that way makes him feel like a bit of a jerk. “I understand that there’s no way for her to know about my issues, but it still makes me uncomfortable. Do you think there’s any hope that it’s something I could overcome – I mean the way it makes me feel?”

Dr. Zoë leans back in her chair and curls a hand around her chin while she thinks, “Hmmm… Do you consider yourself to be asexual?”

Armin shifts in his seat feeling a bit embarrassed at the question. “I’ve – I’ve considered it before, but no, I don’t think so.”

“You’ve said in the past that you do masturbate occasionally. What do you think about then?”

In an instant Armin feels his cheeks burning with what must be a painfully obvious blush. Masturbation is usually done staring at the wall of his shower and followed by an intense feeling of self-loathing.

 _What does he think about, though?_ The dramatic curve of hips flaring out from a waist. The soft skin on a pair of full thighs. The swell of breasts under a tight shirt. No one person in particular. Hell, not even one entire body in particular. Telling her that he thinks about disembodied female parts sounds both creepy and misogynistic in his head, so he goes for a much simpler answer.

“Women.”

The doctor picks up a pen from her desk and starts scribbling something in her file, “We talk a lot about your past, and your present, but it seems that I’ve been negligent in discussing your future. That’s my mistake, and I hope to rectify it.”

Armin stays silent, unsure of where this is going.

“Is having a consensual sexual relationship with another person a desire of yours?” she asks.

It’s a question that’s almost too heavy to tackle in one go. He sifts through the words in his mind doing his best to form a sentence. “It’s not a thought I’ve ever entertained because I don’t think there’s anyone who would be willing to put in the work it would take to get me to that point. Even if there was, I could never let them. It’s just not fair to ask that much of someone else.”

“I think you’re projecting your notions of reality onto other people again,” she says.

“I’d have to tell them everything about what happened… It’s hard for me to imagine anyone sticking around after that.”

“You would likely need to let them know in general, yes, but only enough so that they understand your trauma. There’s no reason you would need to go into more extensive detail than you’re comfortable with,” she says twirling her pen through her fingers. “You have a touch aversion. So, I believe you need to get to a more comfortable place with yourself before you begin to attempt anything physical with another person.”

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Armin admits.

Dr. Zoë gives him a mischievous smile. “I have an idea, if you’re willing to experiment.”

\-------------------------------------------------

For the first time in weeks, Armin feels calm walking home from work that evening. There’s none of the usual tension in his shoulders or in the space between his eyebrows. He wonders if this is how people without mental health issues feel every day. Today’s therapy session had been more than a little on the unusual side, but sometimes just putting all your baggage out there can feel like lifting a burden from your soul.

The setting sun casts an orange glow across a sky that’s streaked with wispy clouds. It’s still chilly out, but it’s not uncomfortable with a jacket. The air feels crisp as Armin breaths it into his lungs.

As he passes the convenience store in his neighborhood, he sees the owner in the alleyway. Levi is leaning against a brick wall with a cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the air above his head.

“Hey, kid!” he calls out when he notices Armin walking by on the sidewalk.

Armin _almost_ just keeps walking out of fear that this conversation could put a damper on his mood, but that’s rude, and being rude just isn’t something he has in him most days.

The rubber soles of his shoes come to a sudden halt on the asphalt, and he turns to look at Levi, “Uh, are you talking to me?”

“No one else around here worth talking to.” He has his shopkeeper’s apron on, but he’s wearing a leather jacket over it. The shop must be closed for the day. “You look better today,” he says before taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

Armin feels a jolt of defensiveness. Why is this guy always so concerned with how he’s doing lately? His irritation must be obvious.

“Relax, I’m just making conversation.” Levi reaches into the pocket of his apron and pulls out a pack of filtered cigs. “Smoke?”

Armin makes a motion as if to wave them away. “No thanks.”

He shrugs. “Nah? Good for you. Nasty fucking habit,” he says taking another puff.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Armin asks.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

The response truly perplexes Armin. “What?”

“Funny thing about running your own business the clientele always wants to talk to you. Doesn’t matter how much you try to show them that you’ve got a stick up your ass, they still think if the store is open, so is the gossip mill.”

Armin isn’t sure why Levi is complaining about people talking to him, when he’s going out of his way to strike up a conversation with Armin.

“The folks in this neighborhood,” he continues. “You’ve helped a lot of them.”

It’s true, that many of the patients he’s worked with in the past live in the same area as he does. That goes with the territory of low-income housing. Some are doing better these days. Most aren’t. That’s just the nature of the beast that is addiction.

“Not as many as I would like.”

“You may not have gotten as many clean as you wanted to,” Levi says shoving the cigarettes back in his pocket, “but you helped most of them. I can’t tell you how many times after you’ve left that someone else has come up to the counter and all like, ‘Hey that guy who just left helped me find a place to live’ or something like that. Makes you seem like a goddamn angel or something.”

“It’s just my job,” Armin says. He can’t put his finger on why but hearing that he seems like angel feels like a backhanded compliment. “I’m a social worker.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s your job or not. It takes a special kind of person to work with people who’ve hit rock bottom like that,” Levi hesitates for a moment. “My mother was an addict. She could have used someone like you. She tried. She really did. Probably mostly for my sake, but she just couldn’t do it on her own.”

It’s a harmful stereotype that all addicts stop caring about their families at some point. So many of them fight so hard to keep their problems from impacting the people they care about. At first, they try to compartmentalize it, especially parents. They try to convince themselves that if they hide it well enough, their children never need to know that anything’s wrong. Then the situation spirals too far out of control. Sometimes the process takes years. Sometimes weeks. But eventually, juggling the drugs and the responsibility of parenthood becomes overwhelming, and things fall apart.

Armin doesn’t know what it’s like to be in that cycle of abuse, but he knows a thing or two about feeling overwhelmed, and that part he can empathize with. “I’m sure she cared for you a lot.”

“Yeah,” Levi says crushing the lit end of his cigarette into the red bricks behind him. “She’s been dead for a long time now. Since I was still a kid actually, but maybe this whole thing is a story for another day.” 

Armin nods, “There are more options now for people with drug problems to find help these days. I’m sorry they came too late to help her.”

Levi straightens up, his back coming off the wall for the first time since the conversation began. “Nothing either of us can do about that now.”

“I suppose not,” Armin concedes.

The other man takes a few steps toward him, coming to a stop just a hair too close for Armin’s comfort. His eyes are a steely grey. “If you ever need anything, let me know. I may not have a lot of cash, but I know people. A lot of them owe me favors.”

Armin doesn’t understand why or even _what_ Levi is offering to help him with, but ultimately, it seems like it comes from a sincere place. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Levi lifts his chin, “Good.” He turns abruptly and strides halfway down the alley, “Oh, one more thing,” he says without looking back. “Do me a solid and put some energy into looking after yourself. I’m tired of you coming into the store looking like you’ve been up all night shitting your brains out after a bender.”

He leaves Armin alone then, staring into the empty space between the buildings.

Well, there’s one thing he can say for Levi. The guy has a way with words.

\--------------------------------------------------

Elevators. Tater tots. Paper plates. Trivia shows. It’s business as usual at his apartment once he makes his way home, but it’s all a façade. He’s putting on a show for himself as a means of procrastination. Eventually he runs out the clock on his night. There’s 20 minutes before he needs to go to bed. It’s now or never.

He gets up and breathes in deep as he pauses in the doorway to his bedroom, working at the buttons on his shirt. Getting undressed is something he does every day. There’s no reason he should be nervous about this part. Still, he holds his breath tight in his lungs as he shrugs the shirt from his shoulders, then he grabs the hem of his undershirt and yanks it over his head. His fingers grab onto his belt, feeling unusually stiff as they unfasten the buckle. He undoes his pants and pulls them off, leaving the belt in the loops.

Standing there in his underwear, Armin finally frees the air from his chest for fear of passing out. He’s not ready, but he can do this anyway.

The mirror outside of his shower is something he’s spent years trying to avoid. The damn thing is nearly full-length, revealing his reflection from the knees up. Over time, he’s perfected this ass-backward method of getting out of the shower to avoid looking at his own body. Now, he’s facing it head on.

Gritting his teeth like his life depends on it, he plants his bare feet on the tile in front of the mirror. Slowly, he tilts his head up to glimpse at reality.

Peering through his eyelashes, in a way, he looks exactly as he expected. A normal adult male. A little on the short side. A little on the skinny side. Nothing remarkable.

On the other hand, the body he sees reflected back to him feels like a proxy. A marionette being controlled by a tiny person inside of him. His real self – forever trapped at nine years old, controlling a meat puppet prison.

Tentatively, he raises an arm, eyes locked on the glass surface in front of him. His index finger extends, making contact with the skin on the front side of his shoulder. Steeling himself, he traces his collarbone down to his sternum, his smooth skin gliding under his fingertip. This is fine. Safe.

“This is my body,” he whispers out loud.

His other fingers come to rest lightly against his chest. He has a bit of hair there, but not much. It’s also blonde, and probably not noticeable at even a few feet’s distance. His chest feels warm under his touch as he glides his hand downward, feeling the ridges of his ribs. Alright, still safe.

“I can do whatever I want with my own body.”

His touch reaches the concave valley where his ribcage ends, and he presses his entire palm against his skin. This is okay. He’s doing so well.

“I get to decide who touches my body.”

As Armin watches his hand slide down to his navel, something inside of him triggers, and he feels panic rise in his chest. He starts sucking air deep into his lungs, counting his breaths as he goes.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

At thirteen, he feels like he’s calmed enough to continue.

“I am allowed to enjoy it when my body is touched.”

Dipping lower, he feels another line of nearly invisible hair that runs from his belly button down until it disappears beneath his boxers.

He doesn’t feel at all aroused right now, but he’d be lying to himself if he said that the exercise isn’t empowering.

But it’s scary.

It’s scary, and that’s okay. It’s okay, because standing there in the bathroom of his run-down apartment, he realizes that there’s something he wants more than he wants to feel safe.

Armin wants to feel alive.

The edge of his hand stops, resting against the elastic of his underwear, his palm fully pressed against his torso. _That’s enough for tonight._ He thinks to himself, turning away from the mirror.

Armin needs to take this slow. This whole exercise has him feeling far too bold. He doesn’t want to do something reckless and spoil his progress.

\-----------------------------------------

“It’s good to see you again,” Annie says.

One look at her short, black dress and knee-high boots, and Armin is sure he’s bitten off far more than he can swallow. She was already standing there outside of the art museum when he got off the bus. Her hair is up as usual, but tonight she has it twisted up into some sort of sleek bun. He thinks she’s wearing more makeup than he’s seen her wear before. Lipstick for sure.

The sight of her stops him in his tracks. _You absolute fool. You are not ready for this._

In a burst of overconfidence, Armin had texted Annie to ask her to join him at an evening event at the museum. Various classical musicians are spread throughout the building playing classical pieces inspired by the art in the room they’re stationed in. It sounds pretentious, but the tickets were surprisingly cheap, and it actually seems like something he could enjoy.

“Would you like to go inside?” He asks after realizing he’s been standing there silent for too long.

Catching a glimpse of their reflections in the glass doors of the lobby causes his stomach to drop. They don’t look like they’re going to the same place, and they certainly don’t look like they’re _together._ Annie is put-together, sophisticated, and oozing an understated sex appeal. Armin looks the same as he does every day.

He has no idea what he is doing.

There’s a string quartet playing in the museum’s main hall. Armin hands the usher the tickets he’d purchased ahead of time, and immediately an attendant swings by offering them a tray of champagne glasses. Annie plucks a glass from the tray for herself, but Armin waves it away.

“I’ve never been here before,” she says swiveling her head to take the place in. “Never knew something so nice existed on this side of town.”

Armin puts his hands in his pockets and nods in agreement. “I’ve been here a few times during the day. The money for the museum comes from the estate of a lonely old millionaire who wanted to make art more accessible to the public. The board of directors does a great job of running it.”

“You’re into art?” she asks.

“Sure. Passively, I guess.” He shrugs. “Do you want to see my favorite exhibit? It’s just through there.”

“Alright.”

She follows him through an arching doorway into a room dominated by a massive glass sculpture. It’s a surreal, piece fashioned to look like various waves crashing into each other at impossible angles. The entire work is made of opaque, frosted glass that’s a consistent shade of cerulean blue.

Other, less ostentatious water-themed art lines the walls of the room. A tall, willowy woman is stationed in the corner playing a harp. There’s a concrete bench immediately in front of the sculpture, and the pair of them take a seat.

“Do you like this one because it reminds you of the ocean?” Annie asks before taking a sip of her champagne.

“Yeah,” Armin says. “Well, what I imagine it’s like anyway.”

Annie nearly chokes, “You’ve never been to the beach? Armin, we live an hour from the coast.”

“I don’t have a car,” he says simply.

There’s a lot he doesn’t add. He’s never had anyone to teach him how to drive. Or anyone to go on a beach trip with.

“Are you in school?” He asks, feeling uncomfortable as the center of attention. “When we met with your brother, you said you had classes that night.”

“What? No.” She sounds almost incredulous. “I was teaching aerobics classes… It sucks, but it pays the rent.”

Armin is more comfortable now that he’s actually sitting here talking with her and not contemplating how drastically out of his league she must look to everyone around them. “Is that what you do for work?”

“Pretty much. I want to teach martial arts, but apparently no one wants to learn how to kick ass from a five-foot-tall woman. I can barely even scrape together enough participants for the occasional women’s self-defense class.”

“Do you do competitions?” he asks.

A fleeting smug expressing crosses her face, “Regional mixed-technique champ, five-years running.”

“Wow,” Armin says, impressed. “You could probably destroy me.”

“I could _absolutely_ destroy you,” she says before draining her champaign glass and getting to her feet. “Now. You going to show me around the rest of this place?”

Armin smiles. Coming here was a good idea. As they move through the rooms of the museum, he knows enough about art to answer the basic questions Annie has. The music is enough to drown out any awkward silent moments, but low enough to hold a conversation over. He can’t remember the last time he spent this much quality time with someone who isn’t in rehab.

They are in a room devoted to abstract human shapes, and Armin is trying to remember everything he knows about cubism when she abruptly looks up at him and asks how old he is.

“I mean, normally I would have figured it out before now by stalking you on social media, but somehow you don’t seem to have any online presence whatsoever. You’re like an enigma.”

“I’m 26,” he responds without elaborating. Social media is for people who have others in their lives to interact with. Something he’s acutely lacking.

“Hmmm… You’re a year younger than me. Older women don’t intimidate you, do they?” She’s flirting. Even someone as oblivious as Armin can tell that she meant that in a flirtatious way.

“I’m not intimidated by your age, no,” he answers honestly.

“But I intimidate you in some other way?”

“I’m flattered that you assume there’s only one way that you’re intimidating me.”

And then Annie laughs, and it’s like her entire face changes. She tilts her head back and her cheeks turn pink, and she laughs like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her. It puts Armin in mind of an actor breaking character.

“I’ve always been a fan of self-deprecating humor. On other people, of course. God forbid I learn to laugh at myself.” Just like that her features pull back into their unimpressed mask.

\-----------------------------------------------

It takes them about thirty more minutes to make it the rest of the way through the museum, and by then Armin is feeling mentally and physically drained. He offers her his jacket as it’s cooler out when they leave than when they got there. She takes it, pulling her arms into the too-long sleeves.

“I had a good time tonight,” he tells her.

“Yeah, me too – but I understand. You’re just not feeling it.”

“I… what do you mean?” he asks, taken aback by her comment.

“Armin, I get it. You’re a nice guy and everything, but you don’t have to sugarcoat things with me. We’ve been together for the past three hours, and you haven’t tried to put a move on me once. Hell, I don’t think you’ve even _touched_ me once.”

He feels the embarrassment rush to his face. _What an idiot._ He hadn’t even realized what sort of impression he’d been making on her all night. Okay. Maybe this can be salvaged. Being open with her seems to work.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I guess this is sort of my first time doing all of this, and I’m not sure how everything is supposed to go.”

Annie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, “I don’t get it. Clearly you’ve been to this place before.”

Armin shakes his head, “No, I just mean… like spending time like this with someone… with this sort of intent, you know?”

She stands there staring at him with the same look of incomprehension, until suddenly, it hits her like a bolt from the blue. “Are you trying to say this was your first _date_?”

Armin wrings his hands together, “Maybe, I should have told you before we started. It would probably have helped to set your expectations.”

Annie lets out a breath of a laugh. It’s _not_ the same laugh as before. This has a sharp, mocking edge. “What, are you going to say you’re a _virgin_ next?”

That question.

That’s all it takes for the terrible, _horrible_ memories to flood into his mind like a dam breaking open all at once. Of course, he’s not a virgin. He’s filthy. He’s ruined. His innocence was torn away, painfully, ignorantly. He had no idea what had been done to him. What kept being done to him for years before he somehow developed an inkling into just how wrong what was happening to him was. Years, and no one noticed. No one bothered to notice, because he was an orphan, and when a kid has no one else in the world to love them, they’re easy pickings.

He’s walking away now. Walking down the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s walking away and leaving Annie there by herself in front of the museum. He thinks maybe she’s calling his name, but he’s not responding to it, because right now what he’s doing is walking away.

And he’s going home.

And he’s not looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

In retrospect, canceling his next therapy appointment while he’s actively going through a crisis was probably not the best decision Armin has made in his life. For the past week, he’s felt like a ghost haunting his own life. He goes to work, and to the grocery store, and to drop off his books at the library, but he doesn’t feel like he’s actually _there._ It’s like being in the audience of the world’s most uninteresting slice-of-life film.

After he left the museum, Armin had walked all the way back to his apartment. It took him nearly an hour, and he didn’t have his jacket. He was freezing by the time he got home, and he climbed in the steamy, hot shower with all his clothes still on and sat on the floor until the water ran cold. He wanted to cry, but for some reason the tears just wouldn’t come.

When he finally crawled out of his bathroom and peeled off his wet clothes, he looked at his phone and saw he had three missed calls and two voicemails from Annie. He immediately deleted the messages and blocked her number.

 _This is the way it has to be,_ he thought. No one would willingly sign up for the shit-show that dating Armin would be.

That was all a week and a half ago. This morning is off to a rough start. He tossed and turned in his bed the night before, and he doesn’t even notice until he’s already outside that he has put on a shoe of a kind. It’s fine. They’re nearly the same color and a similar style. No one will notice. Probably. This is definitely a morning for coffee, though.

Armin has been avoiding the convenience store because he feels weird about how his last conversation with Levi went, and now he isn’t sure what to say to him. He doesn’t have to worry about it overly much today because the shop-owner starts talking to him the second he opens the door.

“Oi! It’s about fucking time you showed up,” Levi calls out from behind the counter.

“I don’t need any favors today. Just getting coffee,” Armin says rubbing the back of his neck as he walks back to the coffee bar.

Levi is digging around under the register for something when Armin comes up to pay. “Um… should I just leave the money on the counter?”

As of to answer him, Levi pops back up, slamming something down beside the paper coffee cup. It’s Armin’s jacket.

“Been holding on to this damn thing for a week,” Levi says.

“Oh…” he had genuinely expected to never see that article of clothing again. “I’m guessing a lady dropped it off here?”

“Lady. That’s a stretch.”

Ah. He’d forgotten that the two of them rub each other the wrong way. Perhaps there’s only so much dour irritability one room can handle.

Armin picks the jacket up, and Levi reaches under the counter for the cleaning supplies which he always keeps within arm’s reach.

“Said she was looking for the guy who let her wear it, and she didn’t know where you live. She just knew that you come in here sometimes. I was running out of ways to tell her to fuck off when I realized she was talking about you. Sorry, I didn’t know your name.”

Levi had offered to cash in all the favors he’s owed for Armin, and he doesn’t even know his name. What on earth is up with this guy?

“Well, thanks for holding on to it for me. I’m sorry if it’s caused you any inconvenience.”

“There’s a note in the left pocket,” Levi says spraying counter with cleaning solution and wiping it down in big sweeping motions. “She says she doesn’t care if you’re a virgin.”

A high-pitched noise escapes from Armin’s throat. “You read it?”

Levi shrugs nonchalantly, “Wouldn’t you?”

Armin brings his hand to his forehead in embarrassment. Even if Annie has misunderstood the situation, this is all far too personal a conversation to happen between a guy and his neighborhood store clerk. “You could just not have mentioned it. That was always an option.”

“It’s probably for the best. Clearly, you have shit taste in women.”

“Well, if that’s everything, I’m just going to be going now,” Armin says nervously, the words coming out in a rush as he snatches his coffee off the counter and starts to head for the door.

“Hey, I thought I told you to take care of yourself?” Levi calls out to him, cleaning rag still in hand.

“I take care of myself just fine, thanks,” Armin says defensively coming to a stop.

“Yeah? You just suddenly develop multiple personalities of the feet?” Levi fires back, looking down at Armin’s mismatched shoes.

“You don’t know that this wasn’t a decision,” he says a little more aggressively than he means to.

Armin shoves the door open causing the bell above to ring sharply before he steps out in front of the shop. He pulls his jacket on, then a thought occurs to him. With a huff, he turns heel and marches back inside, abruptly halting at the counter.

Levi stares at him blankly.

“I forgot to pay.”

“You forgot to pay?”

“Yup,” Armin says pulling out his wallet.

Levi leans over the counter, resting on both hands. “Kid, you’re a real one.”

\-----------------------------

It takes him several hours to work up the nerve to look at the note burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket. After confirming that the letter is in fact there, Armin finds himself on multiple occasions reaching into his jacket to feel the texture of the paper between his fingers. It’s been a distraction the entire day.

He pretty much always skips his lunch break, but today he has a few extra minutes between patients. There’s a small park that takes up the space of a city block on the way to his next appointment, and he finds a spot to sit in a secluded grassy are under a tree. The note is written on thick, unlined paper that looks like it was roughly torn from a sketchbook. He unfolds it to find a paragraph of large, looping handwriting.

_Armin,_

_I can’t even begin to tell you how upset I am with myself for hurting your feelings the other night. You know so much about art and culture, and honestly, I was trying to poke some fun at you because I was feeling inadequate. Please believe me when I tell you I didn’t mean to cause you to walk away like that. I don’t care if you’re a virgin or if that was your first date. All I’m asking is for one more chance to try to work things out. If I fuck things up again, I promise I’ll leave you alone forever._

_-Annie_

Armin sighs and refolds the note, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. She thinks this is because he’s embarrassed about being a virgin. If only the situation were that simple. He thinks back to what Dr. Zoë told him about others not being able to see his trauma. Sometimes it’s hard for him to remember that when he lives in this hell every day of his life.

But Annie doesn’t know that, and he can never know how she feels about it unless he tells her. The thought of doing so all at once is daunting, but his therapist had told him that he’s not required to share everything up front. Still, keeping her entirely in the dark isn’t fair, and now Armin has seen and felt the consequences of that.

Hesitantly, he pulls out his phone. He still has her number saved, and he unblocks it. The fact of the matter is, as much as he’s lied to himself about it, he _wants_ to see her again. So, he sends her a text.

  * I found my jacket. Thanks.



She responds almost immediately.

  * _Are you talking to me again?_
  * _Please don’t tell me that you’re texting me just to tell me to piss off._
  * I’m not.
  * I found your note.



Armin writes and erases his next text three times before he sends it.

  * What happened outside the museum wasn’t entirely your fault.
  * _Really? Because the more I think back on it, the worse it looks on my end._



Geeze. Armin wonders how much guilt she’s been shouldering about this whole situation, and in turn it sets off his sense of guilt. What an awful situation.

  * There are some things I think I should have told you about before we went out like that.
  * Can we talk in person soon?
  * _Absolutely._



\----------------------------

The next night, Armin somehow finds the resolve to face himself again. Despite yesterday’s issues, he’s having an alright day today, and he needs to do this now while he’s feeling reasonably good about himself.

The bathroom tiles are cool against his bare feet as he stares in the mirror. It’s easier this time to see himself in only his underwear, but the same sense of depersonalization remains. Although as he mimics his movements from before, running his hand slowly down his chest, even that begins to fade. He sees his adult self in the mirror and feels his fingers grazing his skin, and it’s like his brain makes the connection that this image he sees in the mirror is in fact his body.

“This is my body. I’m an adult, and I can do what I want with my body.”

Armin doesn’t even have to stop until he gets to the place he ended this at last time, with the edge of his palm resting against the band of his boxers. He pauses there, tracing his fingers back and forth over the elastic in procrastination. Of course, he touches his genitals sometimes for utilitarian purposes, and occasionally to semi-reluctantly jerk off. He almost never _watches_ himself do it, though. Never in the mirror like this.

He tries a different approach, bending to the side and skimming his palm from his knee, along the outside of his leg and up to his hip bone. Well, that was easy enough. Next, he bends forward and puts his hand on the inside of his knee, and slowly moves it up his thigh between his legs. It’s more difficult to watch himself like this as he has to keep his head tilted up toward the mirror at an awkward angle. He makes it to the bottom hem of his boxers before a feeling of uneasiness hits him. This motion feels far too much like someone trying to ease their way into copping a feel.

_No. That’s not what’s happening._

“This is my body. I can touch my own body however I want,” he reaffirms to himself.

Despite this, he stands up straight, returning to his starting position with his hand on his lower stomach. He thinks maybe it’s best to tackle this head on. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he moves his arm down and grips himself through the fabric. That is… surprisingly fine? He’s totally soft, and the action doesn’t feel particularly sexual, more like when he has to touch himself to get clean in the shower.

But the whole point of this is to make himself more comfortable sexually. He could stop right now if he wants, but he’s impatient to make progress. Armin only masturbates when his body’s natural urges become too distracting. He doesn’t feel like that right now, but he tries to put himself in that same mindset. With his first two fingers, he lightly rubs himself over the outside of his underwear and allows himself to close his eyes in an attempt to jumpstart his imagination.

Hips are the usual standby he starts with. He’s never been one to ogle women, but he can never help but notice a certain waist-to-hip ratio. Sometimes he even imagines what it might be like to rest his hand on the space where a woman’s narrow torso begins to flair out near her pelvis. He tries to do that now, thinking about sliding his hand down, his thumb feeling her hip bone, his fingers lightly pressing into the soft flesh of her side. God, that’s so much more appealing than touching his own side like he was doing a moment ago.

With his real-life fingers, he can feel himself getting harder. He switches to stroking himself with his full grip over the fabric. His eyes open to get a look at what he’s doing. This whole thing is meaningless if Armin doesn’t see himself doing it.

Alright. Some guy touching himself in his bathroom isn’t nearly as nice an image as what he saw in his mind, but he doesn’t feel anything particularly negative. He had half-expected his erection to wilt in his grasp, but instead he comes to full stiffness while watching himself. His hormones must have taken over his brain at this point, which to Armin is actually a promising thought. His trauma, if only for a few fleeting minutes, can be repressed by raw testosterone. At least… when he’s alone. He’s not trying to delude himself into thinking that doing this with another person won’t be an entirely different ballgame.

Before he loses his nerve, he stops touching himself and slips both thumbs under the band of his boxers. Drawing air deep into his lungs, he pulls them down to his ankles.

The view when he straightens up is a surreal experience. Armin has never in his life seen himself like this. There’s a dazed look on his face, he’s fully erect and standing at attention, and he looks… well he isn’t sure how to describe how he looks, but he doesn’t hate it.

“This is me,” he whispers.

He touches himself at his base and runs his fingers up the underside of his length.

“Being touched feels good, and I’m an adult who can decide who gets to touch me.”

There’s a bottle of lotion sitting on his sink and Armin snatches it up so quick that he knocks his toothbrush to the floor. Ignoring it, he squirts the lotion into his palm and starts stroking himself rapidly. He closes his eyes and slips back into his imagination.

This time his arms are wrapping around a waist that’s clad in some sort of slinky black dress, and his hands land on the small of her back. Sliding them down, he cups her ass. He squeezes, his fingers molding into flesh that simultaneously firm and soft.

He’s already so close.

He feels the woman lean her body backward. There’s a whole woman this time. She starts laughing, and she says his name.

_Armin._

It’s Annie’s voice. He’s thinking about Annie in the black dress she wore to the museum. She’s giggling with a smile on her face. She looks so happy, and she’s happy because she’s with him, and she’s letting him squeeze her ass, and… and..

His climax hits him hard causing his knees to buckle, his ankles are trapped by his underwear around them, and his hand hits the mirror in front of him to keep himself from falling to the floor. He’s making some sort of whimpering noise that he’d be embarrassed for another human to hear. He strokes himself through it with the hand that isn’t holding himself up with.

 _Oh God._ He thinks as pushes himself upright with his elbows shaking. _I’m such a creep._

Opening his eyes, he sees the mess he’s made on the mirror, and it makes him queasy. He _hates_ dealing with the after-effects of having an orgasm. It’s one of the major reasons why when he feels like he has to do this, his does it in the shower.

Armin pulls his boxers up and washes his hands in scalding hot water, then he grabs the paper towels from his kitchen and sets to work on the unpleasant task of cleanup. A sense of guilt hangs over him like wet blanket. He’s never thought about a real person while doing that before, much less someone he actually knows.

Annie is expecting to meet with him tomorrow. He has no idea how he’s going to look her in the eye at this rate.

\------------------------------------------

The rain is coming down in sheets when he steps off the bus in front of the brownstone building. Pulling his jacket over his head, Armin double checks his text messages to make sure he has the right address. It’s a four-story building with two buzzers by the front door. Walking up the stairs, he sees that they both have names stuck on them written in raised letters made by an old-fashioned label maker. One, he doesn’t recognize. The other reads “LEONHART.” At the museum, Annie had told him that was her last name after inquiring about his. He hits the buzzer and waits.

It only takes a few seconds to get an answer.

“Is this Armin?” Even through the scratchy speaker, he can recognize her voice.

“Yeah. Uh, it’s raining really hard out here.”

“I’m on my way.”

He hears a door slam somewhere deep inside the building and then what sounds like someone padding down the stairs. Annie opens the front door wearing yoga pants and her white hoodie. She doesn’t have any shoes on, only socks. Seeing her, even in her casual attire, Armin’s brain is immediately brought back to his perverse fantasy from the night before. He has to reassure himself that she has no possible way of knowing what plays out in his own mind.

“Come in. You’re getting drenched.”

He follows her inside, and she immediately heads for a staircase against the wall.

“This place is split up into two units. I live in the top half,” she explains.

They walk up two floors, and Annie unlocks another door at the top of the stairs. Armin had been unsure when she asked if he wanted to come over to her place to talk, but this isn’t a conversation he wants anyone to overhear.

He doesn’t know exactly what he was expecting Annie’s apartment to look like, but it certainly wasn’t something this cozy. The front door opens into a living room filled with plush, mis-matched furniture and colorful rugs. There’s a small kitchen off to one side with a little two-seat dining table against a wall. He can see a small hallway leading off of the other side of the living room. There’s a sliding glass door directly opposite of him that looks like it goes out to a covered balcony.

The whole space is a stark reminder to Armin of just how barren his own apartment is. “Your place looks really nice… eclectic.”

“Reiner picked all this stuff out. He likes to go to estate sales. You should hang your jacket up on the coat rack. Maybe it will dry out.”

Armin pulls his arms through the wet sleeves trying to picture the large, grumpy man he had met a few weeks ago haggling over vintage décor.

“How is your brother doing?” Armin does sincerely want to know, but he can’t help but feel like the two of them are ignoring the elephant in the room. His reaction to her comments the last time they were together looms like an invisible giant between them.

“Actually, he’s doing a lot better. He stayed in rehab longer than he thought he would. He moved into a congregate facility a couple of days ago. I’m surprised how seriously he’s taking this,” she says heading for the kitchen. “I still don’t get how you managed to talk him into all this.”

“I work with people with problems like his every day. I’ve learned a few things.”

“Have a seat.” She gestures to the little table in the kitchen. “I’ll make some hot tea to warm you up. You look like a drowned kitten.”

Armin can’t tell if she means that as a term of endearment or not. She speaks to him differently than she speaks to everyone else. He’d picked up on this at the museum. Her voice still has that bored tone with little inflection, but it doesn’t have that biting edge that is does when she’s talking to most other people.

Armin takes a seat and folds his hands over each other on top of the table. He stares down at them while listening to Annie fill the kettle. He’s never told anyone about what he went through as a kid except his therapists. To drop that on someone who doesn’t have any obligation to continue speaking with him is an intimidating proposal. He wonders if he just comes out and tells her that she’ll ask him to leave.

Annie sets the kettle on the burner and comes to join him at the table, tucking her foot underneath her when she sits.

Armin clears his throat, “So, I guess there’s something I need to tell you. Something that maybe I should have told you before.” He bites his lip and shuffles his feet against the floor. “Sorry, this is all just very difficult for me.”

“I know,” she says simply.

“You know?” Armin asks not certain of what she means.

“Yeah, you have no poker face whatsoever. I’ve never seen anything like it. Your face is like a real-time mood ring.”

This isn’t totally a revelation to him, but it’s not great to hear that his emotions are always up-front and center for everyone to read.

“Can I ask you what sort of relationship you’re looking for with me?”

Annie leans back in her chair, looking down in thought, “I’m pretty open-minded. What is it that you want?”

“I think if we’re going to proceed with anything, I need to know that you’re willing to make some kind of commitment. I understand that might be a lot to ask of someone I barely know. Being with me – it’s going to take a certain amount of work. I want to be up-front about that.”

The kettle starts to whistle, and she gets up to pour their tea. “What sort of work are you talking about?”

Armin looks over at her as she pours the hot water into two mugs with the strings of tea bags hanging over the rims. Her yoga pants cling snugly around her rear, and his fantasy from the previous night floods into his mind.

“Are you okay?” she asks setting the cups on the table and returning to her chair, “Your face is really red.”

“I-I have a touch aversion,” he says. It’s not a lie, but it’s a cop out.

“So, you don’t like being touched at all?” she asks after considering it for a moment.

Armin swallows hard. He tells himself that he’ll tell her eventually. If she decides to stick around. “It’s something I want to push past. At least with someone I can trust. If someone wants to be with me… like that, then they would have to be willing to work through it with me. I think it could take a while. They would need to be very patient.”

Annie blows the steam away from the surface of her drink and takes a small sip. “Are you attracted to me?” she asks, setting the mug down.

“Yes,” he answers honestly.

“Do you think you would want me to try to be that person? The one to help you through things?”

He’ll tell her more. He’ll tell her soon. Just not today. “Only if you’re willing to take on a project like me. You have to understand, it could be some time before we could…” he trails off.

“Before we could have sex,” she states bluntly.

“Yeah.” he looks down at the table feeling embarrassed.

She lifts her cup again, taking another small sip. “That’s fine.”

“That’s _fine?_ ” he questions.

Annie turns her eyes to the side, as if it’s difficult for her to look him in the eye for what she’s about to say. “I really like you, Armin. I have since the first time I heard you talk to Reiner. You’re smart, and you’re passionate, and you’ve got _spirit_. You give a lot of yourself to help other people. If you’d be willing to let me help you, then I’m up to the challenge.”

Armin doesn’t know how to respond. In all of the self-defeating scenarios he’s played out in his imagination, he never thought he’d get this far. “Okay.”

Now it’s her turn to be perplexed, “You’re saying you want to go ahead with this?”

“I think so.”

Annie places her forearm palm up on the table between them. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?”

Armin stares down at her fingers. He’s already mentally exhausted from their discussion and putting something else on top of that feels like it would be too much. “Not today. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” She says firmly, pulling her arm back. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Armin feels the corners of his mouth turn up seemingly of their own accord. “Thanks for understanding.”

“You should drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, sorry, not sorry for 1/4 of this chapter being the world's most awkward jerk off scene.
> 
> Secondly, I want to thank you all so much for the kind responses I've received. I'm typically quite a slow writer, and all the interaction has really spurred on my resolve to get to work on this story. For those of you who aren't writers, I don't know if I can properly explain what a rush of serotonin that seeing that "inbox (1)" brings.


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